La Mer
by mytsie
Summary: Sarek stared at her for several seconds but was well aware that, though she already understood his reply, Amanda would not continue speaking until he had humored her. And so he did. Amanda/Sarek fluff.


_Disclaimer: If I owned Star Trek, I'm sure someone would have let me know by now._

_AN: One of several vignettes written for a meme. Eventually, I think, someone is going to get mad at me for handing out romantic drivel like this when they really want something a bit raunchier._

_A take on Sarek and Amanda dating--they're cute and fun to write. Without the excuse of 'half-human', though, it's very hard to keep a Vulcan in character and make it romantic. Hrrr.  
_

La Mer

"Come now, _Ambassador_ Sarek," Amanda protested in her calm, genial tones and offered him her hand. He looked at it with moderate disinterest and his left eyebrow slid up his forehead. She cocked her head to the side, her brown hair shuffled across her exposed shoulders and caught just the hint of the sodium vapor lighting that lined pathway through the Arboretum. "I don't understand why you're being so difficult," she confessed with a light lilt and unconsciously batted her eyes at him.

"Difficult is a subjective concept, I submit that I am _being_ reasonable," Sarek replied in such an even deadpan that it could hardly be considered more than a flat utterance. Amanda sighed and her lightly painted lips—a concept that Sarek had yet to comprehend—pulled back to reveal her welcoming smile. He reasoned that he should have felt patronized...and yet, he couldn't associate Amanda Grayson with the negative connotations that terminology held.

"You do?" she asked withdrew her hand, folding her arms daintily across her chest. Her dress, an impractical, decorative element of crepe, chiffon, and exacting embroidery, fluttered organically in the cold breeze off the bay. He stared at her for several seconds but was well aware that, though she already understood his reply, she would not continue speaking until he had humored her. And so he did.

"Yes, I do," he reaffirmed flatly and she pursed her lips.

"Do you fear learning, _Ambassador _Sarek?" Amanda asked with a pseudo-concerned lilt. His eyebrow dropped as he examined her—she often utilized methods similar to this in order to convince him to take a certain course of action...unfortunately, it was a statistical probability that he would eventually acquiesce and be forced to undergo a situation that would be most inconvenient. Still, there was a 3.25% probability that he would be able to talk her out of this fleeting fancy, and so he would attempt to.

"No, to fear the unknown is not a trait found in the Vulcan culture," Sarek responded and Amanda politely mouthed _'Oh, I see,'_ as though she had been honestly curious.

"Then you do not know how?" she added and absently tucked a long strand of her hair back behind her rounded ears. Her fingers lingered along the side of her temple and her smile spread as his eyes momentarily flicked to the motion before affixing themselves back on her face.

"I understand the mechanics and am physically capable of preforming them," Sarek answered, well aware of the fact that her simple, conceived motion had just lowered his likelihood of success to an unimpressive 0.23%.

"Then," she said slowly as she let her arms fall to her sides and took a wide step toward him. She stopped exactly 37 centimeters from him making the stark difference in their height all the more apparent. She looked up at him and smiled as she continued, "are you embarrassed?"

He found it was not difficult to classify the expressions of Amanda Grayson into particular, standard categories and had done so from the day they'd been introduced. As she stood patiently before him now, sincerity and sympathy resonated from her strong, feminine features. If he so much as indicated a positive, she would relinquish control of the situation to him and speak nary a word—unfortunately, to indicate anything other than a negative would be a blatant lie.

"I do not experience the sensation," Sarek responded and her sympathetic smile took on a hint of triumph. From this proximity, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the ever present fluttering motion that Amanda seemed to encapsulate—the bay breeze caught up and swept the loose chiffon of her dress against the heavy fabric of his robes. An embroidered section ghosted across his hand and he suppressed the visceral reaction the sensation created.

"Then, logically, there is no reason to deny so simple a request," Amanda added and her brown eyes followed the cut of his sleeve down to his hand before glancing back up at his impassive features. He arched an eyebrow and her smile quailed—Sarek's abdominal muscles inadvertently contracted in reaction to this particular stimulus, and he took a slow breath through his nose as he forced them to release.

"Incorrect," he responded dryly and her brow furrowed, "My effectiveness as a socio-political figure could be detrimentally affected by this particular venture."

There was a long moment of silence and Amanda's expression shifted to one he'd not yet experienced. The muscles of her face slackened and her eyes unfocused, reading the air between them in short, slow jumps, as though the solution to their quandary lay in the gaseous compound surrounding them. He watched her, aware of the subtle shifting of the increasingly cold breeze, the gentle ochre of the arboretum lamps, and the not-too-distant resonant cacophony of humanoids and musical accompaniment. It was growing dark, and his eyes were less adept to process the low lighting than Amanda's. He focused on her expression and almost missed the small smile that pulled her cheeks.

"I have found a suitable solution," Amanda announced and looked up at him, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. "One agreeable to both parties."

"If you would be so kind?" Sarek requested—the phrase was one he'd gleaned from her during his first week of their acquaintanceship. The politesse imbued within the phrase had proved valuable on multiple occasions. Amanda's smile grew as she processed his words.

"_Ambassador_ Sarek," she stated softly, likely aware that he would have no trouble following her drop in pitch and volume, "Would you kindly share this dance with me?"

Sarek's eyebrows lifted simultaneously as he processed her statement—had she brought them, so tactlessly, back to the initial statement in their conversation? No, that was unlikely and unlike her. Without other variables, it was very unlikely that she would simply attempt to wear him down through repetition. Her eyes slowly glanced left and then right and he began to comprehend her meaning more clearly.

Rather than attend the event she had originally designated as their goal, she was requesting that he dance with her here...in the middle of one of the many convoluted pathways that meandered the arboretum gardens. Statistically, there was still a 36.753% chance that they would be approached and identified, thus providing inconveniences similar to those which he'd wished to avoid...however, her methodology was sensible and effective.

He found, despite the cold and the likelihood of incident, 36.753% failed to seem a sufficiently imposing number. With a slow breath, as near as he came to producing an audible sigh, and an edge of resignation, he held out his hands in the configuration most likely to please her. With a bright, beaming smile, she placed her hands on his shoulder and in his, respectively.

Her body temperature ran a significant degree lower than his own, yet in the cold air her hands felt warm and the tactile sensation of their soft malleability was agreeable. Her dress, likewise, was most agreeable to the touch, if considerably impractical. As the wind swept across her back, she took the opportunity to decrease the already diminutive space between them. His eyebrows arched and she bit her lip. A tint of apology flitted in her eyes and she set her head, gingerly, against his shoulder.

Sarek moved in short, reserved steps and she moved in time with him, his hand at her waist guiding her. They maintained a slow, refined, and technically exemplary waltz as the night moved on. The celebratory gathering was a considerable distance from them—it was very unlikely Amanda could hear the music—and yet she kept time most admirably. When the distant music shifted pace and became a quick—he believed the technical classification was _jitterbug—_neither of them noticed.


End file.
